


in the hope that you'll see me

by laurenswriting



Series: could be blue, could be you [5]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: 2am phonecalls, Angst, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Cuddling, Dreams, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Late Night Conversations, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, a quite tender first kiss if i do say so myself, raccoons & hedgehogs, the night is theirs, they're scared and they love each other and they reach out in the only way they know how
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:27:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenswriting/pseuds/laurenswriting
Summary: lucas is eliott's shooting star, his 11:11, his candle flickering on top of a birthday cake.or: being in love with his best friend hurts more at night





	in the hope that you'll see me

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: playing with their hair while their head's in your lap + i called you at 2am because i need you
> 
> thank you to the wonderful wonderful em aka [eliottamoureux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliottamoureux/pseuds/eliottamoureux) for sending in this prompt!! ilysm ♥♥
> 
> title from "fallen" by gert taberner (such an elu song y'all pls check it out)
> 
> un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine
> 
> hope y'all love this one :)

he’s in the park.

they all are, actually, eliott and the boys, his boys. he’s sitting on a blanket, some rough red gingham thing sofiane brought along, and basile is digging into the picnic basket in front of them. arthur’s yelling at the boy, as per usual, and yann films the exchange on his phone while the others laugh along. eliott can’t quite figure out what arthur’s saying, though, his sharp voice fading away between the chirping of the birds and the soft rippling of the lake and the rustling of the tree branches bending to the afternoon breeze.

everything’s brighter here: the grass is a more vibrant green and the sky a more vivid blue, glimpses of azure peeking out through the few clouds that float by. it’s all a little blurry at the edges, eliott thinks, but it feels good.

lucas is next to him like always, like he’s supposed to be. his is the one laugh eliott can pick out of this symphony: eliott memorized it long ago, filed the snorts, the giggles, the honks away for his bad days and good days alike.

idriss taps eliott’s shoulder and he turns to see whatever his friend has pulled up on his phone. eliott can’t quite get a good look at the screen, though, because in that same moment he feels a weight coming to rest on top of his left hand. it’s heavy and trusting and warm and it’s not until fingers tangle with his that eliott knows what’s happening.

his hand; lucas is holding his hand.

eliott whips away from idriss to focus on lucas like he always does, like he’s supposed to. who is eliott if he’s not thinking about lucas, anyway?

lucas smiles at him, bright as the sun. there’s a glint in his eye where the water reflects off of his iris, the hues matching perfectly, and eliott is mesmerized.

lucas is so beautiful like this, glowing in the impending sunset, plucking at blades of grass with his free hand, not a care in the world. eliott wants to take a picture and keep this moment forever.

but more than that, eliott wants to wrap lucas up in his arms and pepper kisses across the boy’s cheeks forehead chin nose eyebrows _lips._

it would probably ruin the moment, though, because eliott knows he can’t kiss lucas. that’s not what best friends do.

or —

maybe if lucas is holding eliott’s hand that means eliott can kiss lucas. that would be nice.

he might as well try.

eliott squeezes their palms together and leans in just an inch. lucas keeps talking and his voice is music, the melody flowing a mile a minute. each syllable is the jingling of a bell, the pitch twisting and shifting to create a new, spiraling rhythm. lucas’ chapped lips move around the words he wants to say but all eliott can hear is his song. it’s familiar, too familiar, eliott thinks. actually, it sounds almost like his —

eliott blinks his eyes open to the night, the darkness of his room split in two by his glowing phone screen. his ringtone is playing out at full blast, and eliott waves a groggy arm out to pat along his nightstand, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. he doesn’t manage to grab his cell until the noise has already stopped, and the screen goes black when he tries to hold it up to his squinty eyes. half of him wants to plop it back on his bedside table, brush it off as a spam call or wrong number and fall back into his dream. _maybe he’ll get to kiss lucas the second time around._ but something tells eliott to unlock his phone, to check just in case.

he wakes up the screen and it’s bright, too bright, and eliott has to shield his eyes to read the notification.

one missed call: _hedgehog boy_

fuck.

eliott’s hands are trembling so hard his phone can’t pick up his fingerprint, and it takes three tries for him to type his passcode in correctly.

he jolts up in bed and opens his call log with shaking fingers, nearly missing the redial button, and he holds the phone up to his ear with bated breath.

it dials and dials and dials. and finally, after an infinity, lucas picks up.

the first thing he says is “i’m sorry.”

eliott panics.

“lucas, wait, what do you —”

“i shouldn’t have called,” lucas rushes. his voice is weak, crackling through the speaker, and eliott prays it’s just a bad connection. “i-it’s stupid, i’ll just —”

“lucas, stop,” eliott interrupts, and the other boy goes silent. “don’t apologize. talk to me.”

a sigh on the other end of the line. eliott knows lucas is biting his lip, knows he’s running it raw and red between his teeth as he tries to find the words.

“why did you call?” eliott prompts.

“i needed to hear your voice.”

his response is immediate, barely a breath between where eliott’s voice ends and lucas’ begins. eliott’s chest hitches and he hopes lucas can’t hear his gasp through the phone. something is sparking low in  
eliott’s stomach, warm and bright, but he stamps it out before it becomes a flame.

“really?” he asks, curling his fist around his bedsheets.

“yeah.”

_oh. that’s — oh. _

“why me?” he questions, or maybe pleads.

lucas goes so quiet eliott has to check to see if he hung up.

“i-i don’t know,” lucas breathes. eliott strains to hear it but it hurts all the same. 

he closes his eyes with a sigh. it felt, just for a second, like something could’ve happened there, but who is eliott kidding? nothing ever happens. nothing has happened for _months._ they’ve been stuck in this cycle of push and pull, of lucas reaching and eliott dodging, of eliott taking one step forward and lucas taking two steps back.

loving lucas like eliott wants to would change everything, and eliott has never been good with change. neither has lucas.

_he’s not ready. they’re not ready. not right now. _

_not yet._

“are you okay, though?” eliott asks.

“i don’t know,” lucas repeats, and eliott’s heart breaks.

“what happened, lucas?”

“i, um,” he begins, clearing his throat. “bad dream.”

eliott nods. but if lucas is calling eliott after a bad dream, then was the dream about _him?_ does eliott really feature in lucas’ dream worlds, just as much as lucas pops up in eliott’s?

the thought is both terrifying and comforting, and eliott has to physically shake it out of his head so that he can focus on the boy on the phone.

“when i have bad dreams, i usually make tea,” eliott suggests, trying to lighten his tone. “lisa likes tea, right? she probably wouldn’t notice if you took a tea bag this one time.”

“you underestimate her love for her tea,” lucas murmurs, a hint of a smile in his voice. “but i think mika has some i could take.”

“good,” eliott says, nodding. “it’ll help you feel better; i swear.”

“yeah.”

the line falls silent and eliott searches for the words to fill the empty space.

“is there anything else you want to —"

“you calm me down, eliott,” lucas blurts out. “that’s why i called.”

the air rushes out of eliott’s lungs in a gust of wind, punched right out of him in a split second.

_you calm me down, eliott. _

his heart skips in his chest, and he has to swallow down the confessions itching at the back of his throat.

“well, i’m glad you called, then,” he replies after a beat, fondness leaking into his words.

“me, too.”

eliott smiles and sits back into the headboard, pillow cushioning his shoulders. lucas is silent, but eliott will be here for as long as he needs.

“thank you, eliott,” lucas whispers after a minute.

“lucas, you don’t need to —”

“thank you.” his words are firm, non-negotiable.

eliott nods even though lucas can’t see him and he gnaws at the inside of his cheek.

“i’m always here, okay?” he says, as fiercely and strongly as he can at three o’clock in the morning, sleep still pulling at the corners of his eyes. “always.”

there’s a sniffle on the other end of the line. eliott’s toes curl, ready to run across the city.

“i know,” lucas starts. “goodnight, raccoon.”

_don’t go yet._

“goodnight, hedgehog.”

* * *

it becomes a _thing_ after that.

sometimes it’s eliott who picks up the phone first, chest heaving with the need to reach out, let lucas’ careful voice break through the overbearing night. eliott only calls on his roughest days, all too aware of how often he leans on lucas to help himself through, careful to keep some semblance of distance between them.

it’s useless, really, because, at the right time, a single glance towards eliott would reveal the harrowing depths of his feelings for lucas. he knows he wears his heart on his sleeve — no, on his cheeks, in his eyes, along his lips. it’s dangerous, eliott thinks. at the end of each day, his cheeks hurt from schooling his features into neutrality whenever lucas is around. eliott always fails, though. he fails as soon as lucas’ eyes meet his own.

keeping his voice clear and strong during their late-night conversations is the worst bit. eliott hopes lucas blames any tremors on a crackly connection.

it’s the riskiest when eliott’s the one to call, his nerves thick as they cloud the night air and seep into the phone.

for the most part, though, it’s lucas who’s dialing eliott’s number in the middle of the night. it’s not always because of bad dreams, though that seems to be the most common reason, or maybe excuse.

it’s just — there was one night where lucas called, and he was so calm about everything, no signs of distress, and they just _talked_. for ages, for far too long than they should’ve at that hour, the falling moon their witness. and when eliott asked lucas why he had called, lucas had stammered around the question before answering with a meek, “bad dream again,” and hung up a few minutes later.

he’s known lucas for nearly his entire life; eliott knows when his best friend is lying to him.

first, eliott had worried: was it something worse than just a bad dream? then, he had wondered: was there even a reason to call?

eliott doesn’t know which one he prefers.

_sometimes i want to call just because i miss you,_ eliott wants to say. _i saw you at school only hours ago, but it’s dark and it’s quiet and i miss you._

he doesn’t dial lucas’ number on those nights, but sometimes lucas calls anyway. he wishes he didn’t feel this way, but eliott thinks those nights are his favorite.

they’re on the same wavelength, him and lucas, and the knowledge that the other boy is out there thinking of him, no matter the capacity, brings eliott comfort.

they don’t talk every night, but eliott finds himself on the phone more often than not.

he even sets a new ringtone for lucas: a brash, blaring alarm that hurtles through the room and certainly wakes the neighbors, but it gets the job done.

eliott never misses a call again.

one night, about two months after that first time lucas called, after two more months of flirting and blushing and falling and hoping, eliott is woken up by lucas’ ringtone.

eliott barely opens his mouth before lucas is whispering on the other end of the line.

“i’m downstairs.”

eliott’s jaw snaps shut, teeth clanging on impact. “you’re what?”

“can you let me up, please?”

a shaky breath mangled by the phone, and eliott jumps into action.

“yes, yes, of course, just, fuck —” eliott trips out of his bed, sheets tangling around already-tangled limbs, and he stumbles out his bedroom door. “i’m going to unlock it now, okay?” he runs across the living room, bare feet smacking the hardwood. eliott hits the button, and he hears the trademark buzz through the phone. “are you okay, lucas?”

“thank you,” lucas whispers in response, and the line goes dead.

eliott pulls the phone away from his ear, the screen fading to black as he notes the time. 1:48am.

fuck, lucas was out on the street, on the bus, _alone_ at 1am. _fuck_.

eliott stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants and goes to the door, fingers already wrapping themselves around the handle. he can hear footsteps echoing down the hallway, slow and shuffling as they come closer, and eliott doesn’t even wait for a knock before he throws the door open.

lucas is wearing pajamas, those stupid chili-print pants eliott always teases him about, and he’s only got on a threadbare t-shirt and a hoodie otherwise, far too little for a chilly november night. his hair is tousled from the wind, and his cheeks are pink but his eyes are red, and eliott only gets one good look at lucas before the boy is throwing himself against eliott’s chest.

lucas knocks the wind out of him on impact, and eliott stumbles backwards into the apartment. “i’ve got you; i’ve got you,” he whispers, arms winding around lucas immediately, instinct taking over, cradling the back of the boy’s head where it’s pressed to the crook of eliott’s neck. he kicks the door closed, not bothering to reach forward and lock it lest he break their embrace.

“couch or bed? or here?”

“c-couch, please,” lucas hiccups.

he nods, chin dragging against lucas’ temple, and he shuffles them into the living room, feet moving in sync. careful hands crawl up eliott’s back as they go. lucas clings to him like a lifeline, only pulling away to plop down on the couch.

eliott sits beside him and starts to turn to face lucas but the other boy is too quick, lying down so that his head is resting in eliott’s lap, chocolate brown hair splayed out along the grey of eliott’s sweats. lucas is facing away from eliott, and although eliott would happily spend hours simply looking at lucas, he thinks it’s good that they can’t really see each other’s faces right now. they can read each other so easily that once caught glance would send everything tumbling down.

plus, eliott knows he looks a little ridiculous, his hands hovering up by his face, curled in fear above lucas’ slightly shaking form.

he doesn’t — he doesn’t know what to _do_. lucas is _here_ and he’s so clearly _not okay_ and eliott’s every instinct is telling him to comfort but he’s not sure where the boundaries lie. or if there are any boundaries left at all.

he and lucas aren’t all that affectionate, despite a full decade’s worth of friendship. lucas doesn’t _cuddle_, and especially not with eliott.

but it’s night, and the night is _theirs._ things are different under the stars.

eliott’s hands stutter and stop on the way down, rising and falling with lucas’ rough breaths, until they come to rest in the space between eliott’s stomach and the back of lucas’ head.

one shaky hand. five tentative fingers reaching out inch by inch until they’re sliding over and up, feeling the ends of lucas’ hair tickle the skin as eliott combs through the strands, touch featherlight.

lucas sighs, his breath hot along the inside of eliott’s thigh, ghosting along the top of his knee. it spurs eliott on, tangling his fingers further in lucas’ hair, stroking along the scalp and twisting a few strands around his index.

lucas leans back into eliott’s touch, just a small nudge of his head, his cheek brushing along the fabric covering eliott’s thighs.

one of lucas’ arms is wrapped around eliott’s shins where they hang off the couch, keeping him there, holding him close. he traces patterns along the curve of eliott’s calf, fingertips burning through fabric to set fire to skin and bones.

eliott doesn’t know how many times he’s dreamed about them in this exact position. sometimes they’re curled up under a tree in the park, off to the side, separated from their friends in their own little bubble. or they’re draped over the benches in the school courtyard, scribbling down the last few answers to their homework assignments, free hands intertwined between them.

eliott’s favorite daydreams, though, are in lucas’ apartment. it feels more like home than eliott’s own place. every inch of every room is imbued with something so distinctly _lucas_, no interference from the boy’s roommates, and it surrounds eliott and sets him at ease whenever he walks in.

and he’s getting so far ahead of himself, but floating somewhere in the back of his mind is an image of an apartment, a new one, that’s distinctly lucas_ and _eliott_._ the clash vinyls stacked next to dubstep ones, raccoons and hedgehogs sketched along the walls, mismatched furniture sourced from eliott’s parents’ home, his current place, and lucas’ apartment.

in his wildest dreams, eliott makes lucas breakfast every morning. in his more realistic ones, though, he’s the one who wakes up to pancakes sizzling on the stove.

he sees it all.

he sees them.

lucas is eliott’s shooting star, his 11:11, his candle flickering on top of a birthday cake.

it used to scare eliott, being _thisclose_ to the one person he wants most in this world. but now? with lucas cuddled close and asking for more? eliott thinks life has never been easier.

“lucas?” he ventures, brushing a few stray pieces of hair off the boy’s forehead. “do you want to talk about it?”

lucas’ breath hitches, the sharp inhale jostling eliott’s leg. he gulps and shakes his head. “not yet.”

“okay,” eliott answers. “whenever you want.”

they stay like that for a while, taking the time they would usually spend talking and turning it into a new kind of closeness, a new kind of _intimacy._

it sets eliott’s mind racing.

eliott lifts his free hand up to rest along lucas’ shoulder blades, smoothing his thumb in circles across lucas’ plush hoodie.

suddenly, lucas shifts onto his back but eliott’s too slow to catch up, and he finds himself with a hand curled behind lucas’ ear with the other resting on the boy’s heart. it beats underneath eliott’s fingertips, the rapid rhythm strong even through two layers of clothing.

as lucas turns, eliott catches a glimpse of a wet spot blooming just above his knee, the fabric damp where lucas once was.

“do you remember when we met?” lucas asks, timid and unsure.

_how could i not?_

two kids on the edge of the school playground: one peeking into the bushes, another sent to retrieve a rogue soccer ball.

“what are you looking at?”

“there’s a hedgehog in this bush. do you wanna see?”

the boy had ambled over, soccer ball tucked under his arm, and ducked down next to eliott.

“i think it’s a baby,” eliott whispered, pulling back the branches to show off the little creature.

“your hair kind of looks like its spikes,” eliott had giggled, and the other boy ran a flustered hand through his already-messy hair. “you’re a baby hedgehog.”

“no, i’m not!” he stood up and stamped a comical foot to the ground, brow furrowed at a smiling eliott.

“i’m gonna call you hedgehog boy.”

he scoffed. “my name is _lucas_, actually.”

“okay, hedgehog boy.” he smirked. “i’m eliott.”

lucas had pursed his lips, cradling the soccer ball to his chest. “if i’m a hedgehog, then what are you?”

eliott hummed, curling a finger to his chin. “i’m a raccoon.”

“a raccoon?” lucas deadpanned, brow disappearing under his tangled locks.

“yeah! they’re pretty cool, don’t you think?”

lucas had rolled his eyes. “sure, raccoon boy.”

now, eliott laughs at the memory, a soft chuckle fading into the silence of the room. “of course, i do, lucas,” he says, dragging a careful fingertip along the curve of lucas’ ear.

lucas sighs, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “you said you were a raccoon because they wear a mask.”

eliott nods. “i did.”

“do you still wear a mask?”

he sighs, eyes drifting over the worn-out collar of lucas’ shirt. “sometimes,” he breathes, and hopes it’s enough. the first few drops of fear trickle into his bloodstream to mix with the anticipation that’s been lying dormant for months.

eliott’s not sure he’s ready for where this conversation is going.

“i think i wear a mask, too,” lucas whispers, eyes darting around eliott’s face. “but i don’t wear it with you.”

“i don’t wear mine with you, either,” eliott replies in a rush, fist curling atop lucas’ heart. 

lucas scoffs. “yes, you do,” he breathes, and eliott freezes. “you do, and i hate it.”

_he knows. he knows and this is where he says goodbye._

eliott steels himself, ready for the rejection and pain that is sure to come but, like always, lucas surprises him.

“l-lucas, i —"

lucas shushes eliott before he can go any further and reaches a hand up, brushing the backs of his fingernails over eliott’s cheek. eliott’s eyes slide shut and he revels in lucas’ delicate touch, committing each movement to memory for when lucas inevitably pulls away. eliott’s eyelashes flutter as he leans forward subconsciously, shortening the distance between the two. in this newfound closeness, lucas curves his hand around to cup eliott’s face in his palm, dragging his thumb over the boy’s cheekbone.

_don’t say it, don’t break me, don’t say it, don’t break me, don’t —_

“no more masks, eliott.”

eliott’s eyes fly open to lock onto lucas’ gaze, grey and blue colliding in the moonlit room.

“i’m not scared anymore,” lucas whispers. “not if you aren’t.”

“i’m not,” eliott replies, and there’s a finality to it, true and trusting. “i’m not.”

a soft smile works its way across eliott’s lips, one to match lucas’ perfectly, and all trepidation dissipates from his bones.

eliott bites his lip and leans down to brush a soft kiss to lucas’ forehead. and it’s barely a kiss, really, just a hint of lips against skin. the angle is a little uncomfortable, a twinge running through the side of his neck, but it’s okay because it’s lucas.

it’s always lucas.

“do that again, please,” the boy breathes, almost at the exact moment eliott’s lips break contact with his forehead.

eliott pulls back and looks at lucas with a furrowed brow.

lucas nods, the most minute of movements.

okay. _okay._

eliott kisses lucas’ forehead again but with more pressure this time, letting his eyes fall shut as the ends of lucas’ hair tickle against eliott’s nose.

“lower.”

a kiss between lucas’ eyebrows.

“lower.”

one to the tip of his nose.

“lower.”

his chin.

“…higher.”

eliott swerves to lucas’ cheek and feels laughter underneath his pursed lips. it’s heavenly.

“a little to your left.”

eliott arches over to leave a quick peck on lucas’ other cheek before he’s back to the center, his smile hovering directly above lucas’, so close he feels the boy’s voice more than hears it.

“right there.”

he leans down.

**Author's Note:**

> ♥ thank you for reading!!! ♥ i hope you enjoyed!!! ♥
> 
> kudos & comments are always welcome; in fact, they're _encouraged_
> 
> tumblr: [tawmlinsun](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com) // [ficpost](https://tawmlinsun.tumblr.com/post/186790909866/5-48-sending-u-what-u-sent-me-cause-i-want-to)


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